


Two Strangers

by another_crack_in_time_and_space



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: High School AU, M/M, Smoking fic, Teenlock, WIP, tw drugs, tw slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_crack_in_time_and_space/pseuds/another_crack_in_time_and_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two boys, thrown together</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pretty Girl

Part 1  
It started with two boys. They were similar in ways, both inquisitive and playful, both had insufferable older siblings, both had bickering parents. As they grew up they changed, as all children do. One gained popularity, the other did not. The boys grew up in the same town, went to the same school, of course they had heard of the other, maybe even seen him. They weren't friends by any stretch. Just strangers. Primary school passed in birthday parties and rugby games or in books read and trees climbed depending on you who asked. Everything was normal, two people on different orbits. Then there was secondary school, both boys in third year. John, MVP of varsity rugby but not captain. Popular, single, fun. Sherlock, glass genius, often seen alone. Not hated, not loved. Opposites as fate would have it, yet alike in the same.

  
John Watson was not new; likewise neither was Sherlock. Sherlock was not john’s tutor, John did not put Sherlock back together after a fight. John hardly stood up for him and when he did it was only to save himself. This is not a story of how two star-crossed lovers fell passionately in love. This is rather a story of two strangers, slipping from their orbits. Found together with no reason to part.

  
It was a rainy afternoon when John was out driving. He shouldn't have been, his car needed work. Plus he was on the other side of town. But he was bored and restless, too much time spent inactive and trapped in his house. So he got out, and had just gotten to the top of Hillcrest drive when his car sputtered. In John’s heart he knew this could be the end.

  
“Come on, pretty girl, you can do it.” He muttered to his car, and as if for his benefit the vehicle lurched forward a few feet before totally dropping out. John moaned and pushed the gas again, praying she’d turn over again and come back. Nothing. Pretty Girl was totally dead.

  
“Bollocks,” he grumbled, getting out and standing in the road. Not only was the car immobile but now she was spewing smoke from her engine. John walked around and opened the hood anyway, getting quickly overcome by a cloud of the stuff. He coughed and waved it off. “Dad’s going to kill me.” He kept mumbling as he tried to bend over his spent engine. He had no idea what he was looking at. “I’m dead!” he whined, dropping his head in his hands.

  
Obviously he couldn't sulk in peace as he immediately felt someone staring. He looked to the only house on the road, an old Victorian, then more pointedly at the boy on the front porch staring at him. John recognized him vaguely, pretty sure he had seen him at school. Sean? Shirley? No, no Sherlock. Why was Sherlock just standing there?

  
“Hey,” John called. “Care to help?” The boy John called out to, dressed less formally then he had at school, came hopping down the steps to join him. He was tall, pale, and to John a bit rat like. Dark curls hung over his ears and neck. Above all else the stranger was most notably barefoot. Weird. Sherlock approached the car and eyed it warily.

  
“You know it’s dead, so why ask for help?” Sherlock asked, his voice deeper than John anticipated. Sherlock tapped his chin with a long pale finger, but kept his musings to himself. “You’d do best to call someone” he finally said by way of an answer. John rolled his eyes.

  
“That’s helpful” John retorted sarcastically. Sherlock shrugged. This kid was bizarre. “Right, thanks for trying, I guess.” He was done for.

  
“You could come wait inside and call from there. I assume you have a mobile but it will start raining heavily soon.” Sherlock offered, squinting at the clouds like they could tell him something. John wanted to decline, as he didn't know Sherlock as well as he’d like to if he were to enter the house, but the distant thunder changed his mind.

  
“That would be alright with me” John said quickly, regarding his poor car. His companion quirked his mouth in a thoughtful face.

  
“It’s not a busy road, your car will be fine” Sherlock added, as if reading Johns worry. John chuckled nervously and followed the kid who had turned on his heel and headed for his house. ‘This is exactly what happens in horror films’ John thought bitterly and clenched his fist at his side.

  
The house was rather intimidating. The front hall opened to a flight of old wooden stairs on one side and longer hall that led to what looked like a kitchen from so far away. Sherlock turned right, into a sort of parlor with old, uncomfortably stiff looking couches covered in garish floral prints. The room was dominated by built in shelves loaded with books and behind the couch john perched on nervously was a huge bay window. There was another on the wall that faced the archway. It was beautiful.

  
Sherlock fell into the wing back armchair opposite John and sprawled into an awkward looking position before drawing a worn book from under the chair. John was left gaping for a little bit, taking it all in. ‘Well rather nice setting for a horror film’ John thought dumbly before pulling out his mobile. Thunder rang out at that moment and rain began to fall heavily just as Sherlock had predicted. Sherlock flicked his eyes over to John at the sound, as if it was his guest’s fault, before returning to reading.

  
John took a deep breath and dialed his dad. It rang for what felt like a year before his father picked up.“What happened?” His father demanded in a gruff voice.

  
“Car broke down” John responded. No hello, no flowery language, just right to the point. That’s how John and his dad were.

  
“I told you she needed a new engine” His father reminded him, though not unkindly. John nodded and his father took his silence as an affirmation before continuing. “Where are you?”

  
“Hillcrest, in a friend’s house.” John winced, but when he looked to Sherlock he realized the kid had gone. Well, at least he didn't hear that. A sigh rattled in the phone.

  
“The other side of town, of course. Let me finish this break check and I’ll be right there. Twenty minutes” His dad said before hanging up. John’s dad owned a car repair shop of his own, so getting pretty girl fixed wouldn't be hard. When John put his phone back in his pocket he stood up, just as Sherlock entered the room with two cups of tea.

  
“Earl grey” Sherlock said simply and handed John the blue mug. Eying it warily, John settled back down as Sherlock sat in a more polite position. “Third year?” Sherlock asked when they had sipped a bit.

  
“Er, yeah, aren't you?” John asked, hoping that he wasn't mistaken after all. Sherlock regarded him offhandedly before replying.

  
“Yes. I am. I see you about with the Rugby team sometimes.” Sherlock said, looking down.  
Now John remembered him. This was the kid who refused to swim in gym class and made last year’s captain cry. He had put super glue in a girls locker for no reason, and was constantly hiding in the library during class. He hardly looked like he could live up to his reputation, in a soft grey shirt and jeans. The only thing he really seemed capable of doing was making John uneasy.

  
But all that notwithstanding he had been nice when Johns car broke down. Could have left John in the road. Honestly Sherlock hadn't really done anything to him, so his judgment was uncalled for. John just fiddled with his tea and checked the clock. Not much time had passed.

  
In the silence there was a flick of a lighter and John looked up to see Sherlock with a cigarette between his lips, pushing smoke out of his nose. There was a beat when they just stared at each other, neither sure what the other would do. John disagreed with smoking all together, thought it was a waste of money and disgusting habit. He wanted to tell Sherlock so but stopped himself.

  
“So you're disenchanted with my habit, I assume” Sherlock said in his curious drawling tone. “I can't say I didn't expect any less. If you are about to inform me of the dangers to my life this causes, I suggest you don't.”

  
“No,” John sputtered. “No, I wouldn't...you probably already know them, in which case you're an idiot, but if you insist.” he nodded to himself, thinking this was a diplomatic approach to the situation. Sherlock cocked his head to the side before picking his book up again, but John saw his eyes looking at him over the cover.

  
“The window behind you opens, so you can stop breathing shallowly.” Sherlock said quietly and John swiveled around to work it open, regardless of rain. The fresh air struggled to abate the smell of smoke but it was good enough for John. Checking the clock again John was disappointed. 5 minuets had passed, but his dad was still a good ten minuets away. The boy across from him cleared his throat and rested his book on his stomach.

  
“What's your name?” Sherlock asked, brow furrowed. John looked up, startled. Hadn't he introduced himself? No, of course he didn't. Idiot.

  
“John, John Watson.” Sherlock nodded as if John's name was something anticipated or approved of. Again, this guy was weird but hardly malevolent.

  
“I'm Sherlock -”

  
“I know” John interrupted. “You don't really forget that name” he joked, glossing over that he had in fact forgotten it. Sherlock chuckled.

  
“No I suppose not.” he added, tapping ash into a dish on the coffee table. He brought the cigarette to his mouth again and breathed so deep John thought he might really pass out before Sherlock released it all in a perfect ring. “Well, this has been...awkward.” Sherlock laughed mostly to himself.

  
“ Just a bit weird, yeah.” John laughed with him and for a moment they seemed for all the world to enjoy each other. But the sound of Mr. Watson's tow truck blundering up the road broke them out of that. John lurched to his feet. “I've got to go help my dad put the car on the rig.” he said quickly. He almost ran from the parlor before stopping to call a goodbye and going to join his father in the road.

  
As John hooked pretty girl to the tow he somehow knew Sherlock was watching them. Looking over his shoulder, John saw a pale face in the window, dark eyes focused, softly blowing smoke into the pouring rain. He raised his hand in goodbye to Sherlock, who only shut the window in return.

 


	2. Good Morning, Morning Dew

Part 2  
The weekend passed quickly. John's father didn't mention the whole event on friday, save to tell John when Pretty Girl would be fixed and how much to pay. John accepted this without a grumble, just happy to be out of that situation. To be honest the whole thing was strange and stuck in the back of John's mind. He dreaded going back to school, but Monday rang bright and early for John with a 4:30 rugby practice.

After his dad dropped him off John stumbled toward the pitch, nestled in the valley of the hill beside their school. The grass was a thick and dewy green, quickly chilling John, who stumbled toward the field as the sun began to rise. The team, a group of seniors and juniors were gathered there, milling about but not up to their usual vigor. Not this early anyway. As he got closer there were greetings called out to him, but he couldn't respond quick enough. His brain was half capacity and he knew he should have stopped for coffee, or just stayed in bed. 

Before he could feel too sorry for himself, Captain Reynolds, a tall blonde senior, known well with girls and guys alike, blew his whistle for laps and the team, half dumb and bleary eyed, began to run. John followed suit, blending easily among them. 

“Ay, sport. You look chipper” said Greg, a burly senior that John talked to on occasion. John shrugged, somehow amusing Greg who jogged off with a laugh. John turned back to keeping his mind blank and keeping up with the team when a name drifted back to him. 

Sherlock

John subtly increased his speed to catch up with the gossiping group, trailing behind enough. The group of boys consisted of some chatty juniors, the kind who drank too much at parties. Why would they be talking about Sherlock?

“Do you think Sherlock would really come to school high, Tommy?” Alex asked, tone far more serious than John's ever heard. Tommy shrugged. 

“I mean he looked high.” Tommy argued petulantly, and John covered a snicker. Sherlock, a druggie? Never, and John had only met him twenty minuets. 

“I mean I know he smokes and everything but I think he's too much of a priss to go anything harder” Alex continued. Oddly enough John felt offended at this, as if it was an insult not to be into hard drugs. This was where John fell back again. The whole idea of people willingly subjecting themselves to drugs, committing themselves to bouts of almost uncontrollable mental states didn't appeal to him at all. Surely Sherlock was above all that, save for his cigarettes, which John guessed was a rebellion thing. With this assumed information John felt he could breathe easier, inexplicably. 

The sun began to turn the sky green as the team went through stretches and plays. By the end, three hours later, all of them were wheezing and up to their usual energy. Captain Reynolds, flashing his brilliant smile, debriefed and praised the team, before they all hit the showers. 

Now John was not necessarily ashamed of his body, but there was no denying he had a bit of a tum, so he never took much time in the shower, never let the towel sling low on his hips like the others. He skipped through his shower with the same speed, drying off and throwing on his clothes. The rest of the team was only stepping out of the stalls when John was out in the hall.

Distracted by his mentally forming plans for the day, John didn't stop until someone stepped in front of him. Looking up, quite startled, John found himself face to rib with Sherlock. 

“Oh, hi” John mumbled nervously. Sherlock seemed to jar out of his thoughts and glanced down at him, offering a small nod by way of greeting. As quickly as he appeared, he was gone again and John was left gaping in the hallway like an idiot. 

To John everything was really just normal. The same routine everyday, school, practice, and home. Pretty girl was fixed up and ready to drive, everything went on like nothing had happened. Once or twice the boys would cross paths, locking eyes to say hello, but generally staying out of the others way. 

Finally fate over ruled, when John was in the library. Knowing he had ten minuets before practice he was running the vast expanse of his school library, searching for a copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Finding it, on the wrong shelf of course, he set off to check it out. John was running down the aisle, so focused on where he was going he couldn't help but run square into the grey metal book cart set up at the end of the shelves. With a loud crash John and the cart ended up on the ground. Students and Librarians popped up out of desks like merrkats to survey the damage. Awesome. 

Face bright red John began to help himself up as a pale hand extended toward him. Oh crap. Taking the hand John knew Sherlock had seen the whole affair. When he was finally brave enough to look him in the face, he was annoyed to find Sherlock laughing at him. Well, chuckling was a better way to describe it. Sherlock swallowed his smile and helped John climb over the cart. 

“Are you okay?” Sherlock asked in his strangely deep voice. John nodded and poked his ribs, hoping he was just brusied. 

“Yeah..uh s-sorry about your cart” John stuttered, pushing the metal monster back on its wheels. He began picking up books and shelving them as the library settled back into place. Sherlock stilled his hands. 

“No, it's okay.” Sherlock insisted taking over. John beat himself up. How could he have been so reckless. 

“Shakespeare, huh?” Sherlock asked, gesturing without looking toward the book still in John's hand. John looked at it as if he had forgotten about it.

“Oh,yeah. School project” He lied. He didn't really want to go bragging that he liked to read such classics.

“The course of love never did run smooth” Sherlock smiled at John, as if he could see right through his lie. He could only guess this was a quote and stumbled to respond. 

“Well love and reason keep little company” he finally said. This was so weird. He just needed the book. Sherlock laughed at Johns uncertainty before continuing down the aisle. No goodbye or any indication the conversation ended. John almost followed him, but looking at the clock John realized he was already late. Instead he checked out his book and left unnoticed, just a stranger that Sherlock watched leave, a smile on his pale lips.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for his name to be used so much. Whatever.


	3. Reading Effects The Best Of Us

  


John didn't want to admit it but he hung around the library more, trying to catch the charismatic stranger. It didn't work out in his favor mostly. Anytime he thought he saw a black curl or a pale smile he'd turn to empty air. He'd duck into the library between classes, during free blocks, and even after the last bell rang. Of course, he wasn't sure what he'd do if he ever did find Sherlock, but he felt he had to look.

Being in the library lead to more reading, as one would guess. He'd be seen with a fantasy book in the hall or with a western shoved in his rugby bag. A young adult fiction poked out of his bed frame. The librarians, Mrs. Ventham and Mr. Carlton would smile at him and make small talk when he checked out books. Greg was always there to give John grief about his new habit. But John didn't care much. Even his family noticed his reading. Harry would bring up a certain plot twist in a mystery John read last week and his father tried (only once, I'm afraid) to connect the horror book John finished to the movie adaptation. John liked reading and was partial to historical or period fiction. Currently he had Catcher and The Rye in his backpack, which leaned against his study table in the back of the library. John was furiously scribbling (he'd say rewriting) his science notes. A chill spread over his neck as a low laugh broke John's silence. 

“I've heard that you've been quite a regular, John Watson.” Sherlock smirked. John looked up to Sherlock's face as he leaned languidly over his book cart. Sherlock was dressed as he normally was, in a button up shirt and slacks. This time forest green and black, respectively. In the chest pocket of his shirt was a rather conspicuous box of cigarettes. 'Very James Dean' John thought to himself. “You've been lurking about, checking out books with no pattern at all,” Sherlock continued, almost accusatory. “Tell me, what are you reading now?” Sherlock's pale hand gestured to Johns back pack. John himself didn't know if he should feel threatened or flattered that Sherlock was talking to him. 

“The Catcher And The Rye” John said with a confident smile. Two could play the intimidation game. If John was intimidating, that is. “I heard you've been out the past two weeks, anything to say in your defense?” John placed his chin on his hand, the picture of innocence.

“I was...bored.” Sherlock responded, pulling back slightly. John didn't pursue, just laughed even though the reaction made him curious. “How do you like the book, anyway?” Sherlock asked, changing the subject quickly. 

John shrugged. “It's okay but Holden is whiny and very gay for Stradlater.” At this Sherlock chuckled smoothly again, a melodic sound. John smiled for almost no reason. 

“Very interesting opinion.” Sherlock concluded, standing to his full, aggravatingly tall height. His grey blue eyes narrowed to read the clock on the other wall. “I have to go, but we can meet here tomorrow if you aren't beating a rugby field to death after school” he joked cynically before turning on his heel and pushing the creaking metal cart in front of him. He left without a good bye, again. 

John blinked a few times, dumbly. Did Sherlock just make plans with him? Him, John Watson?

Weird.

But all he could do was smile. He had finally (inadvertantly) worn Sherlock down. They were going to meet tomorrow. He pulled out his book but paused before opening it. John looked around, trying to see if Sherlock was still there. After a minuet he gave up. Gone, he guessed, turning back to the book. 

Goodbye, Sherlock

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again ahhh. Maybe Now I can actually update regulalry


	4. Coffee Shop AU

  


John had to assume that Sherlock's definition of tomorrow was wildly different from his own. Tomorrow tends to mean the day after presently. To Sherlock it must truly mean a week, or a weak and a half but who was counting? Perhaps he had been bored again, as aggravatingly vauge as that was. John found himself considering the drive to the north part of town, just to see if he could find his elusive...acquaintance. That was what typically stopped him, of course, the distance in their relationship. 

School was day in and day out, morning Rugby, classes, checking the library, lunch, checking the library again, more classes. The ladies at the front started to make pitying faces any time John came in, shaking their heads to spare him the search around the expansive room. At first John was disappointed, but time made him angry. All seven days that is. How could Sherlock just do that? Skip out on school like that? Last he checked school was not a recommendation. But John couldn't point this out to someone who wasn't there.

By the end of second week John had almost given up looking when he popped his head in before lunch. The mousy one, Mrs. Fledging nodded excitedly and pointed to the back. Stooping over the same damnable cart was Sherlock, tall and alone. John could have throttled him. Straightening his bag, John slammed the romance book he had finished on the counter, before turning to the back and storming like a man on a mission to Sherlock. When he finally reached him Sherlock looked up and grimaced.

Sherlock looked like hell. His normally gaunt face was strained, his eyes dark, as if he had rubbed eye shadow under them. His mouth was pulled into a sour scowl of impatience and his curly hair was tangled hopelessly. Sherlock seemed to move gingerly, as if everything hurt. John was taken aback, his chest fluttering with concern. However this didn't stop his anger very much.

“First of all, where the hell have you been?” John whispered fiercely, “Second of all, why do you look like you've been hit by a truck?” Normally this frankness would have been deemed rude and unacceptable to John. But nothing seemed normal with Sherlock. 

“On holiday” Sherlock snarled sarcastically, more like a feral animal than anything else. “Spending time away from you, you pathetic puppy. As for my truck like complexion, as you so delicately put it, I've been...sick, obviously” his voiced cracked at the end. The boy must truly be miserable, but John didn't miss the insult.

“Pathetic puppy? As if I dog you around? I've spoken to you twice, mate, both times you started the conversation.” His anger came up again. “You said you'd talk to me tomorrow. Surprise, its been a week you fu...freaking idiot.” he couldn't bring himself to swear at Sherlock. 

The younger boy closed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry,” he said, obviously a forced sentiment. “I truly have been sick...Mycroft took away my medicine. He likes to do it for fun it seems.” Sherlock paused to take a heavy breath. “I didn't mean to be away.”

John deemed it acceptable, and let out a breath, burying the hurt. “At least you're back. WE can hang out as you said....or not” he added, trying to avoid sounding creepy and attached. 

Sherlock nodded and shelved some books in thought. “There happens to be a coffee shop just down the road if you decide to ignore my egregious behavior. I think we could both go for some tea.” Sherlock attempted a smile which went horribly and John laughed, not unkindly, at his attempt. 

“Yeah, that should be nice. We can meet here after classes and go together, alright? See you then?” John was really far too eager and he should honestly just have a group of people follow him around to tell him when he was beginning to sound alarmingly daft. Sherlock seemed oblivious to an improper signals and nodded. 

“See you then, Watson.” Sherlock said, by way of dismissal and turned from John to go shelve books elsewhere. John walked to the library in what felt like victory which was echoed by Mrs. Fledging, who smiled encouragingly as he left. Only then did John stop to consider he had just made a date with Sherlock Holmes.

xxx

John paced the front of the library for at least ten minuets before the final bell rang. His heart sank in fear that Sherlock wouldn't come and it was all some joke to embarrass him. After this afternoon John wondered what cruelness Sherlock truly kept hidden. But those were just the musings of John's nervous disposition. And to his relife Sherlock showed up shortly after the bell, long dark coat draped over his shoulders, looking miserable but less angry. It was a start. John nodded and they walked all the way to the street in front of the school without a word. Sherlock reached into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes. 

“Do you mind?” Sherlock asked politely, gesturing to the box. John took Sherlock as the kind who would remember John's initial reaction but not as the kind to show observance of it. John shrugged. Sherlock took this as affirmation and slipped one from the box. John saw it was almost empty and it occurred to him Sherlock was underage, so he had to have a supplier. But it wasn't his business and showing interest was moot. 

The day was thick and gray, misting on and off as they walked in careful silence, broken by Sherlock's even exhales. The blond couldn't say he liked it, but he didn't really mind the beauty of it. It was like mist itself, rising and dissipating. The smell was horrid and the object lethal and inane, so he didn't quite express his thoughts. Sherlock finally coughed and sighed. 

“November's a dreary month. You know it's the foggiest they say? Thick fog, bad for everything really.” he began quietly. John smirked to himself. The weather? This was the christened conversation topic? 

“I've never minded the fog here, it really only stays in the valley and the roads early in the morning. Burnt off by the time I have to go anywhere.” John agreed. Sherlock frowned.

“That car, is it alright?” he asked, as if it were more of a person than a vehicle. 

“Yeah, something blew, needed some TLC is all.” John brushed off the question. He could go in depth but from what he saw books were Sherlocks forte, not cars. 

The shop appeared out of the mist like a boat, stout and white. A wooden sign dangled in front, deeming the building, a house really, Kevin's coffee. It seemed boring for the likes of Sherlock, but the strange boy always surprised. They went inside quickly and were greeted to a low chatter and wood paneling of any self respecting coffee shop. It reminded John of a ski lodge with a big fire place in the side where some teenagers hung together, chatting over white and grey ceramic mugs. There were tables scattered around, wooden to match the house and the other half was taken over by a glass display case of sweets and cakes and a register. A chalkboard menu hung above the head of a 20 something year old man, red scruff crawling up his chin and red hair hanging in his eyes. It was serene and stereotypical. As they approached the counter John saw a flight of stairs that lead up to a second floor of seating, from the chatter and music that came down to them. 

“Roger,” Sherlock greeted warmly, putting his cigarette out in the ash tray on the counter. “Business is pleasant I see.” Roger laughed, the way a fire burns to embers.  
“Its the damn weather, it sticks to ya bones.” He said with a smile. His eyes fell on John. “Got a friend to keep ya warm I see.” John flushed. 

“it's not-” John began as Sherlock simply laughed. “We'll need my usual and whatever John wants.” Sherlock gestured as if Roger might mistake who John could be. “Just Earl grey.” John muttered, like a sullen child left out of conversation. They were handed steeping cups of tea and sent along with a few more pointless banters from Roger. Who was that guy? Some hippie who owned a coffee shop. Pointless really. John couldn't possibly be jealous. 

Sherlock lead them upstairs to an area more comfortably furnished, and John caught sight of two arm chairs by the window. A red wingback and a short grey plush cushion. He headed right for them, placing his mug on the table beside him. They were perfect, he decided. Sherlock smiled politely and sat in the armchair, in a more appropriate position than the last time John had seen him in one. 

“The shop is nice” John said, as if he was complimenting a house. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

“Don't have to suck up to me. Roger is the one you should be complimenting. My father helped him raise the building and funded a lot of this project. Roger is nothing if not idealistic and he wanted to give the younger community a place to mingle in the town. Father was raving about small businesses and the like for months. I was thankful when it was all over.” Sherlock smiled proudly. That explained the closeness to Roger and removed a weight off of Johns chest. 

“Your dad's an investor then?” John asked, looking longingly at the tea that was 20 degrees too hot. 

“Yes. He's quite successful.” Sherlock offered blandly, sipping his tea as if it were cold. Maybe he couldn't feel it. 

“You said you were sick, what was wrong?” John asked. Apperently it was the wrong question, as Sherlock's lips drew into a tight line. 

“A sort of...withdrawl. From my medicine.” he said quietly. “Just some...destressers. Anti-anxiety, one could venture to say.” 

“Huh,” John said a way to let the topic go. The vauge answers made him uneasy and honestly he just wanted to enjoy himself.

After that conversation flowed well. It was all light, nothing too deep, no drama. Just a nice chat between friends. No more. Time passed and the sun set and both boys found themselves in the dim room, the grand father clock chiming six. 

“Oh hell, Im gonna get yelled at if I stay out any longer” John said at last. Sherlock nodded. “I can walk you back to get your car.” Sherlock offered.

“Do you need a ride? Hillcrest is a ways from here on foot, and not too far out of my way” John lied, setting his empty cup on the table. Sherlock shook his head.

“I'll be fine” He promised.

They walked back in the dark, laughing. Sherlock had another cigarette, that being their only light. John had almost completely forgotten about Pretty Girl. He smiled in relief when he found it was still there. “Offers still open mate” John offered one more time. 

“I couldn't” Sherlock turned him down again. “Drive safe, Watson” Sherlock said as he began to walk off. 

“Thanks, Holmes.” John called again, needing to have the last word. He got in pretty Girl but didn't start her until he saw another cigarette go up, an orange light dancing at the lips of his strange friend. He turned over the engine and pulled down to the street. There was still Sherlock's shadow, just until he slipped away.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets be real, Will i ever update regularly? No.


	5. I Promise You're a Rumor

  


After the coffee shop it seemed John saw Sherlock everywhere. Hallways, alcoves, around corners, at his locker. Suddenly Sherlock became part of the school. However Sherlock ignored him, if ever John went out of his way to greet him. Just like before, their hellos were eye contact, everything seemed hushed up. It didn't necessarily bother John. He assumed Sherlock just had some kind of weird reputation or something.

John was at his locker when Tommy, Alex, and a few others passed behind him. The topic of conversation? Sherlock Holmes

“Did you here Sherlock totally ripped into a student last block? I keep telling everyone he's mental!” Tommy began, waving his hands as if in defeat. John's ears perked up. He shut his locker and trailed the group, some tension locking into his shoulders. 

“Not this again, Tom.” Alex sighed. His remark was echoed in some laughs.

“No, really. He got all psychotic about drugs in health after some kid was like 'everyone who does drugs is terrible'. I told you guys he's a druggie.” Tommy went on. “He like started on about the human brains drive to lose control and pulling all this stuff out of his ass. The teacher flipped. It was wild.”

Alex rolled his eyes and some of the boys shrugged. “What's it matter to you what he is or not? Got a crush on him, do ya?” the whole group laughed and Tommy blushed. 

John lagged behind them until they disappeared. This Sherlock Holmes was weird. Would he really do that? Flip out about something so small? Could he even really be a druggie? It was a laughable thought, but he still felt unsettled by it. No, it was just teasing, classroom rumor, just lies. Sherlock's vices were only smoking and being an ass. 

A strange unease settled over him. He had to go see Sherlock. Ducking back through masses of students John almost ran to the library. What was wrong with him? Just rumors got him so worked up. Yet his body seemed independent of his mind as he surged forward. He swung into the library, smiling stiffly at Mrs. Ventham and Mr. Carlton, who were chatting softly among themselves. Mrs. Ventham pointed to the back and John's heart leaped. Jesus, did he want to talk to Sherlock or what?

With a very false confidence he went to the historical fiction where Sherlock was shelving. The tall boy didn't move or acknowledge John. John leaned on the book shelf behind him and watched Sherlock shelve. His hands were even, skimming the pages of the books before he shelved them. Not a book out of place, not in his library. He was chewing at the corner of his bottom lip, regarding the authors name with too much scrutiny when John cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh, Sherlock.” he started hesitantly. “I, uh, noticed that...or overheard really..I mean, there was something that happened? Earlier today?” If he could John would have shot himself right there. Sherlock's shoulders stiffened and he drew a breath. He put his book down but wouldn't turn. 

“I suppose you should hear of it. Many are fond of repeating the lapse in judgment. It's nothing I won't regret however. Know that, John.” Sherlock said coldly, eyes boring into the titles before him.

“But, uh, what happened? I mean something about yelling at this kid or something?” John stuttered, terrified something might send him over an invisible edge.

“An idiot. It was nothing, no one. Can we move on from this or will you continue to dog me like a child?” Sherlock continued, shoving books already over stocked to the side. The harshness set a sour taste in John's mouth. “I really should be asking you why this is so important that you must come running to me about rumors? Aren't friends not supposed to do that sort of thing?” he continued. John frowned. 

“Friends? We're friends? That's odd, you haven't talked to me in or out of school in about a week. Is that what friends do, Sherlock?” John pressed. “Also I don't recall ever being berated by a friend for expressing concern in their well being either. If you want to question me about friendship, you might want to actually know what it means to be a friend, you sodding dick.” he was surprised such harsh words came out of his mouth but he was ultimately fine with it. Why shouldn't he tell Sherlock what he was thinking? 

Sherlock laughed cooly and swung around. He slammed a stray book onto the cart and checked the clock before almost running to the front of the library. John followed, waiting for a retort. Going behind the massive oak desk in the front Sherlock slammed the cart into place and barked a goodbye to the two bemused librarians. Oh no, he wasn't going to just brush John off that easy. John followed as Sherlock stormed into the hall. He wanted an answer and he was going to get one. It wasn't until John had followed him out of the building that Sherlock slowed. Knowing John's father would have his head for skipping anxiety snuck in and set an edge to Johns voice as he called out to the teen in front of him.

“You going to answer or just run off?” he demanded, snagging Sherlock by the back of his shirt. Sherlock struggled out of his grasp and turned, teeth bared. 

“You fucking twat, why won't you leave me alone! I was pissed, I said some shit. Wasn't aware I needed your constant approval, oh benevolent fucking master. You and your chivalrous chanting, droning on and on about pathetic loyalty. Don't you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk!” Sherlock snarled. From the second he opened his mouth John knew that Sherlock didn't mean a thing. His eyes were wide with fear more than anger, his hands clenched in anxiety more than rage. It was confusing. It was too much. 

“You ever have a friend, Sherlock Holmes?” John asked, almost melodramatically, staring full frontal into Sherlock's blue eyes. They darted everywhere but him. He tried to look angry with John but just looked lost. He took a stuttering breath. 

“No, I guess..No I haven't” he said finally. “Friends are for the weak. The slow. Not me.” he added, always having to prove he was better. John felt a hard sort of flutter in his chest. Of course. It makes so much sense. It wasn't sad, really, there wasn't pity. It just explained a lot. 

“Okay. I'm a friend. I care about you. As a friend I hang out with you and I read your books and screw up your chances with girls. I also express concern. I'm worried that this fucking kid set you one edge and who do you need me to beat up?” John stated, keeping contact with Sherlock. 

Softly the genius began to laugh. He chuckled until he gradually go louder, a huge heavy laugh that rolled of his chest and filled John with a sort of joy to watch him. 

“Watson, you are the daftest person, I've ever met.” Sherlock laughed before leaning over to catch his breath, standing incredibly close to John. His eyes sparkled just inches from Johns own. His breath smelled of cigarettes and mint and his clothes were stuffed with smell of smoke. Sherlock was beautiful. 

Fuck

Nope he wasn't doing this, he wasn't gonna do this

John Watson was no gay

But Sherlock was beautiful in that light, Flushed in the cold adding sparse color to his pale face. He was so strange to John. So new. He couldn't help but think of it briefly. 

But it wasn't anything. John had always felt that way, transitioning between girls and guys flippantly as he pleased. It was fine. Just a feeling. Just a thought. 

John brought Sherlock back in through an unlocked door, now that they were sufficiently late for any sort of class they should be attending. John hardly was sure if Sherlock ever attended class with his over abundant attendance in the library but it was a comfort to have him back inside anyway. They parted ways and John couldn't get the grey of his friends eyes out of his head. 

Just a feeling

Just a thought.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay all fixed. Maybe a new chapter. Gonna update some tags. add chapters to older fics.


	6. Cinna The Poet

John's father was waiting for him when he got home, a surprise in the Watson household. Normally his father worked late, preferring the solace of the garage to the company of his son. John handled his father's absence with with silence. He couldn't care one way or another really. But it was a shock to see the grizzled older man at the kitchen table, staring into a cup of coffee that had probably long run cold.

This could not be good.

John swallowed hard as he dropped his house keys on the counter and brushed his hair back with his hand. Mr. Watson only shot him an arbitrary glance as he gestured to the only empty chair in front of him.

“Sit,” he said roughly, not really a question and not really a command. John dropped his bag at the foot of the table and sank into the chair.

“Can I heat your coffee up, Da? Or some lunch?” John asked nervously, glancing back and forth between his dads down turned expression and the range, as if it would pipe up in his defense.

“Got a call from the school today. Said you skipped class.” His dad looked him full in the face, waiting. John stuttered for a second.

“Oh yeah, you know I was really just tardy. They like to dress it up sometimes and-”

“Said they saw you with some kids smoking on campus. This true?”

John shook his head adamantly. “No, dad. Well I mean I wasn't smoking. He was. Sherlock, that is. But it's no big deal and we didn't even do it on campus anyway it was like-”

“I'm not sure you should be spending time with this Sherlock character, John.”

“When did you start picking my friends for me?”

There was a tense silence. Mr. Watson sipped once on his cold coffee, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. He placed the mug on the table and stared, as if quite taken with the scratches the table had endured. He didn't mean to be overbearing, John knew. He only meant to be protective.

“I've said what I thought. Mind who you keep around son.” With that his father stood and retreated to the back of the house, probably to drown in television or to read in his room where John couldn't bother him. John sighed frustratedly. Who had the right to decide his friends? If anything Sherlock may even be a better alternative to his rugby mates. They got him into trouble. Sherlock was...different. It was a nice trouble. A bending rules back trouble. Sherlock did get him to read, for god sakes, how bad could he be?

John cleaned up the kitchen a bit to work off some anger before gliding up to his room. He dropped onto his bed and pulled a western out of the bed frame. He pretended to read as he thought about the bruises under Sherlock's face. Maybe he should try to check up on Sherlock more often, get him to take better care of himself, if that was possible. Not like John was signing up to be his keeper or (god forbid) his  _ boyfriend,  _ but wasn't taking care of people the right thing to do? He sighed to himself and pulled a hand down his face. This was so stupid. He didn't owe Sherlock or himself anything.

But John wanted to know who he was. He wanted to spend time with him and learn about his hobbies. And if part of that meant keeping Sherlock healthy than so he would. If John decided it was in his best interest then he would do as he damn well pleased. 

He considered their last interaction, staring blankly down at his book. How could a boy like that grow up without any friends? Sure he was difficult to know and held everyone at arms length but surely someone must have seen the good in him? John muttered senselessly under his breath. Often times his father said that was John’s biggest fault, seeing and assuming the best in people. It was ‘going to get him scammed or heartbroken’ he was told. Just because his mother left didn’t mean everyone was going to. He didn’t think Sherlock had the capacity for premeditated harm. Any insult he inflicted in the past week seems to be because Sherlock was careless not callous. Maybe John was being a bit too hopeful but perhaps it was as he thought. 

He dropped the book back in between his bedframe and started working on his homework hoping that his thoughts would just settle down and help him focus. John was sure Sherlock wasn’t deep in thought over him at home. 

 

There was no more word between John and his father that night nor in the morning. Mr. Watson rose early and left without a note or even brewing coffee. John packed his bag and set off for school, letting Pretty Girl idle for a few minutes as he wrote out some chores for his sister. He got there early as he intended and ducked into the library, dropping off a few books and scanning the stacks in the back. No ghoulish silhouette could be found. Why would Sherlock be here on time, or at all. John turned and made his way to his locker. Greg had called off morning practices this week, but promised some in the afternoon. He was glad for this, as it let him sleep in. However he missed the sense of normalcy that went with practice. 

John paced the hallways the fifteen minutes before classes started, trying to find team mates or Sherlock or anyone. He felt lonely after last nights conversation and it was not a feeling he was used to. Yet it seemed everyone was avoiding him. Not intentionally, John chided himself, these people have lives and friends outside of himself. As the first bell rang John gave up and slid into his english class, finding a quiet seat in the back. Normally his team mate Alex would sit beside him as they messed around the whole time but today his friend sat a few desks away, looking completely exhausted. Fine, John thought. It seems to be a quiet day for all of us. 

The next classes passed sluggishly, John tuning in and out as he wanted, drawing on the margins of his notebooks. Only in fourth hour did anyone try to speak with John. Greg dropped in the seat behind him, tugging at the hood of his sweatshirt. 

“Ay, sunshine. Word is you’ve been slumped all day. Going to be all right for practice?” behind the joking tone was a note of concern. John shrugged. 

“I’m always okay for practice. As far as I’ve seen everyone else is in a funk. What happened?” John turned slightly to catch a glance of his captain. Even his face seemed drawn, but his smile made up for it. Maybe that was Greg’s trick. 

“Ah we had a dressing down by the guidance office. Tommy was caught smoking and they saw you hanging out with that Sherlock guy. They wanted to make sure we’re all keeping our noses clean.” Greg shrugged like it didn’t bother him, but John knew better. He felt responsible. 

“Seriously? Where was I for all of this? Did it happen at practice?” John tried to wrack his brain but couldn’t remember missing anything. 

“Actually we all got called in after school one day. I think you had left right after the last bell or something.” Right, the coffee shop date. John grimaced with guilt. 

“Sorry, Greg, I didn’t know. What can I do?” He couldn’t believe Tommy could have been so stupid as to get caught. Didn’t he understand what this meant for the rest of them? Letting himself be put in this position reflected badly on all of them. 

“Uh, this is going to sound kind of...well, it’s a bit much to ask…..I mean…” Greg looked embarassed, oddly enough. It unsettled John to see him like this. 

“Come on, you can tell me anything.” John insisted. Greg sighed and leaned back. 

“We need you to keep your friendship with Sherlock on the downlow. Administration doesn’t trust him.”

There was a sharp ugly pause between them. 

“What?” John asked. “That’s ridiculous! The entire administration doesn’t trust one silly student! He’s just a kid how could he possibly-”

“John Watson!” The teacher cleared her throat. The boys had become unaware that class had even started. “Would you like to tell us why Cinna the Poet was killed? Or would you prefer to keep gossiping?” She kept her voice stern and shrewd. Clearly this would be another mark against the team. 

“No ma’am, sorry.” He shut his mouth and turned ahead immediately, thoughts circling his brain. How could a whole team of adults be afraid of one measly student. Something bigger was happening here. John didn’t like it one bit. He had to get to the bottom of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so long!! Sorry Sorry Sorry. I'll try to update regularly.


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